Tomorrow is Never Promised
by lost-in-elysium
Summary: Claire grapples with guilt and must learn to cope with her nephew's deaths while hoping to salvage her relationship with Karen that may now be lost forever. Rated T for mild language. One-shot. Sequel to Death Shouldn't Call Dibs on Kids. REVISED.


**Tomorrow is Never Promised**

 **A Jurassic World Fanfiction**

 **Summary:** Claire grapples with guilt and must learn to cope with her nephew's deaths while hoping to salvage her relationship with Karen that may now be lost forever. Rated T for mild language. One-shot.

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing.

 **/!\ Warning(s):** Mild language.

 **A/N:** The raptors in _Death Shouldn't Call Dibs on Kids_ are not and were never intended to be Owen's. Although _Tomorrow is Never Promised_ refers to _Death Shouldn't Call Dibs on Kids_ , the latter does not need to be read to understand the former.

* * *

"Did she answer this time?"

Claire rolled the sense of deja vu off her shoulders and stared morosely at her phone. "No." The recording she heard enough times to recite verbatim asked to leave a message after the beep; she didn't. _I want a warm body to pick up, not you!_ She waited fifteen seconds before redialing.

The line trilled, until: _Hello, you have reached_ \- Karen Mitchell. _She_ is _not available right now. Please leave a message after the -_

She truncated the words with a swipe of her thumb. Had her sister acknowledged at least one of her missed calls? That was all Claire wanted, _needed_. Was that too much to ask?

 _Probably is_. _I killed her kids, after all._ Yet Owen insisted the raptors, not her, were to blame.

 _Then why do I feel so guilty?_

"Maybe you should try again later?" he said with a lopsided shrug. "I don't think bombarding her with calls is the way to go."

She tossed her smartphone onto the bed in chagrin. "You're right." If Karen wanted to talk, she would. _I just want to know if you're okay..._ Even a rebuff would suffice at this point - _anything_ besides the silent treatment. Claire gasped at the clock; the service started in an hour according to Zach and Gray's online obituaries...

* * *

 _"Claire?" Sheets rustled as Karen dragged herself upright, sensing tension on the other end of the line. "It's almost...three o'clock in the morning. What's the matter?"_

 _Her lips moved, but no words emerged._

 _"Claire? Are you still there? What's wrong?"_

 _She cleared her throat, stalling. It was now or never. "Karen, I need to tell you something."  
_

 _"What's wrong?" A pause. "It's not Zach or Gray, is it?"_

 _Silence.  
_

 _"Claire!" Karen sounded so much like their mother then, it was uncanny. Maternal intuition never failed her. "Say something. Where are Zach and Gray? What happened?"_

 _"I'm so sorry." A tear trickled down, unbidden, leading a procession of dozens more. "Zach - and Gray...they're...they're...dead." Each word caught on on its way out; a sob shoved_ dead _out of her mouth before she clamped her teeth over her lip to stifle another. As the silence grew, so did Claire's conviction Karen had hung up on her - but the blare of the dial tone never assailed her ears.  
_

 _"W-What?"_

 _Claire sighed. "We had some...assets...out of containment. Zach and Gray were in the gyrosphere. Somehow, they managed to maneuver it out of the boundaries. They got lost and something...something got them. They're gone. I'm sorry. So very sorry…" The_ _search team had discovered mutilated remains, later identified by dental records as her nephews - their deaths the cost of a promise reneged._ _ _ _Guilt, sorrow, shock, and fear surged through her.___

 _Karen scoffed. "Sorry?_ Sorry _, Claire? I give you my kids for one weekend -_ one _\- and now you tell me they're dead? They were under your care, Claire! Your protection! And they're dead!" The last word plunged like a knife into Claire's heart. "You killed them! You killed my babies!"  
_

 _She flinched._ Am I a murderer? _Could Zach and Gray's grisly deaths have been averted, or was it fate? If she had paid them more attention, would they have returned home alive and well rather in body bags?  
_

 _"I'm sorry! It...it just happened."_

 _"'No, Claire. This didn't 'just happen', as you so_ delicately _put it. It was a chain reaction; one thing led to another. And it's all your fault. I trusted you! How could you do this to them, to_ me _?!"_

* * *

Claire couldn't stand the pity in Owen's eyes - like she was one of his beloved raptors he was desperate to save, but couldn't.

"I'm taking a shower." Only the bathroom ensured privacy from the paps adhering like gum to her shoe, bombarding her with jibes and requests for comment as they snapped photos to feed the rumor mill. She had scoffed at a tabloid cover of her and Owen hugging with the caption, _Did Dearing choose romance over redemption?_ People thought she cared more about love than extricating herself from this PR catastrophe? _Apparently._

A knock erupted at the door. "Claire! You've been in the shower for like, twenty minutes. Are you alright?"

 _I'm the furthest from 'alright.'_ "I'm fine!" Shutting off the water, she swathed herself in a plush cotton towel, emerging from the shower in a haze. Owen was propped against the doorjamb in his boxers, blue eyes fraught with worry. Claire wrapped another towel around her head, swiping the hairbrush and blow dryer off the counter, sidling past him when he caught arm. Her facade nearly crumble under his scrutiny.

"Hey. I'm here for you. For everything."

She nodded and they both moved on. The door shut behind her, muffling the blast of water from the showerhead. _Poor Owen._ She had monopolized all the hot water, too busy wishing her worries could rise and dissipate like steam.

Claire plopped in front of the television as the tragedy dominated airwaves without reprieve. "Once again, we're back with more grisly details about last week's Jurassic World massacre," the anchorwoman said as footage rolled in a corner of the screen. "Among the casualties were Zach and Grey Mitchell, nephews of Jurassic World's Claire Dearing, who, quite interestingly, has not responded publicly to our requests for comment. Many are blaming Ms. Dearing for the catastrophe, as well as demanding her imprisonment and permanent closure of the park..."

Claire winced. She stood, arms crossed, scoffing at the flat screen as Owen entered the room with a towel around his waist. "Can you believe this? They're crucifying me, branding me like some sort of monster. They're even talking about shutting down the park and although she didn't mention it, I'm sure relatives of the victims are calling their lawyers right now to sue me and the park for everything we've got."

The mattress groaned under Owen as he claimed the spot Claire had vacated. "Stop it, Claire. You need to stop worrying about the job, or what others think, or..." He shook his head. "...lawsuits. They don't matter. Contrary to popular belief, you are a human being grieving the deaths of her nephews, and everyone should respect that."

"Deaths _I_ caused!" She jabbed her finger into her chest, not caring her towel was one vigorous arm swing away from slipping off. "I should've lodged a bullet in both their heads - that's a lot more merciful than what they suffered. I will burn in hell for this." Her lips twisted in a sardonic grin. "Oh, wait - I forgot. I'm already there.."

Owen stood. "Please, Claire, don't talk like that." He reached for her and she didn't resist the solace of his embrace. "You're not going through this alone." His breath caressed her ear, and Claire almost thought - no, _wanted_ him to kiss her, but he didn't. "I'm going to be with you every step of the way till the end. It's you and me against the world."

* * *

"Come on, Claire. We gotta get going if you want a good seat."

She peered over her shades and out the tinted window, watching mourners stream into the cathedral.

"Remember what I said? I'm here for you." Owen opened the door and climbed out, inviting cool air, rain, and the drone of voices into the taxi where she sat, years of stale nicotine ingrained in the cracked leather seats. He peered inside, fingers drumming along the roof. "Let's go." Nodding, Claire paid the driver before stuffing change into her clutch and latching onto Owen and following, a frayed bundle of nerves.

"Does she know you're here? Karen, I mean?" he asked.

"No. I'm not even supposed to be here." _I'll be damned to miss the funeral, invited or not._ Whether Karen liked it or not, she was entitled to a goodbye.

They cleaved through the crowd, Owen leading Claire to the rearmost pew. She sunk to her seat, adjusting her sunglasses, skin prickling under the fixity of their stares; her auburn bob stuck out like a sore thumb.

"What the hell are you doing here, Claire?"

She swung toward her. "Karen, I -"

"I _ordered_ you not to come! How dare you go against my wishes, on this day - and who's this?" Karen raised her eyebrows at Owen as her estranged husband joined them, mirroring her anger and astonishment.

"Owen Grady. He's my..." _What?_ She sighed. "Friend."

Karen folded her arms over her chest. "Oh."

Claire squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Karen. I know you didn't want me here, but...it wouldn't feel right if I didn't. I'd regret it for the rest of my life, along with everything else...I just wanted to come, say my final good-byes to Zach and Gray, and then I'll be out of your life for good, if that's what you want. After today, you don't have to see or talk to me ever again."

Zach and Gray's mother blinked back tears, pursed her lips, and knitted her brows, and hope for reconciliation died as quickly as it had flared to life. _Please, s_ _ay something. Anything!_

Nothing.

"Karen, I'm _so_ sorry." Claire knocked her glasses askew as she flung her arms around her sister, sobbing.

Karen drew back and glared, upper lip curling into a sneer, her eyes abysses of sorrow whose bottoms the brightest light couldn't reach.

"You can stay for to pay your respects, but after that, I want you out. For good. I don't want to see your face at the burial or repast. And don't _ever_ speak to me ever again." She spun on her heel and walked away with her soon-to-be-ex husband.

Owen cracked his knuckles. "I'm sorry. I know your sister is grieving, but she has no right treating you like that. This isn't anyone's fault, let alone yours."

"Keep telling yourself that, Owen." Claire sat, scanning the packed edifice; she hadn't expected the large turnout, that so many cared. These strangers meant more to Zach and Gray than she ever was or could be...and she was their aunt.

She cried harder.

 _The End_

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks for reading!


End file.
